Yes, ma'am. Then we're square. He nodded and left. Everett had heard the exchange from several yards away. Rebecca knew because when she looked up, he was watching her.
He said nothing. That was becoming one of the things she noticed about him. Everett did not rush to fill every silence. He let people keep what belonged to them, including their own victories. The branding ran late.
A stubborn group of cattle had broken toward the creek near sundown, costing the men nearly 2 hours. By the time the last riders came in, the moon had climbed over the ridge, and Rebecca was still washing blackened cookwear behind the ranch house. Her wagon could not safely make the road to Copper Ridge. At that hour, Franklin had already told her there was a spare room upstairs. Rebecca had accepted because she was tired enough to fall asleep standing beside the wash barrel.
She was scrubbing a skillet when voices came around the corner of the house. Edwin Mercer had stayed for supper. The other voice belonged to the woman who had arrived with him that afternoon. Claudia Mercer. Rebecca had learned she was Edwin's widowed sister and kept house at the barm m.
Claudia was perhaps 40, neatly dressed despite two days of ranch dust with gloves that remained clean because she had not touched anything requiring them to become dirty. I suppose the food was good, Claudia said. More than good, Edwin answered. That isn't what I meant. A pause.
Rebecca kept scrubbing. Water dripped from the skillet. Claudia lowered her voice, though not enough. Everett has always been peculiar about company. “Leave it alone, Claudia.
I'm only saying a man living alone that long can become less particular.” Rebecca's hand stopped. “Just once, then started again.” Claudia continued, “Bringing women like that onto Hailand and letting everyone make a fuss over her cooking. People notice things. Edwin said something Rebecca couldn't hear. Then Claudia gave a small laugh.
Rebecca pressed the rag harder against the iron. It squeaked. She hated that sound suddenly. She rinsed the skillet, dried it, and hung it from the hook beside the outdoor kitchen. Then she washed another and another.
By the time Claudia and Edwin rode away, every piece of cookwear was clean enough to shine in moonlight. Rebecca should have gone upstairs. Instead, she walked toward the wagon. Her trunk was still beneath the rear canvas. It held her spare dress, receipts, a flower ledger, two good knives wrapped in cloth, and the small things she did not leave unattended.
She pulled it toward the tailboard. It caught. Rebecca pulled harder. Nothing. She climbed partly into the wagon and dragged it sideways.
Rebecca. She closed her eyes. Of course. Everett stood near the barn. He had changed shirts after the branding, but dust still marked his trousers and boots.
I've got it. I can see that. Rebecca pulled again. The trunk moved perhaps an inch. Everett came closer.
Let me. No. He stopped. Rebecca tugged until the muscles in her arms shook. The trunk caught against a crate.
She knew what she was doing now was foolish. That made stopping harder. Everett rested one hand against the wagon rail. He did not reach past her. Did something happen?
No. That trunk weigh more tonight than it did this morning. She looked at him. Moonlight caught one side of his face. Rebecca climbed down.